


Copulation Room

by pcddrabbles



Category: Black Panther - Fandom, MCU, Marvel
Genre: Erik must relinquish his dominance, F/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 11:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17527859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pcddrabbles/pseuds/pcddrabbles
Summary: There are several different kinds of punishment.





	Copulation Room

" _Mthabathe ekamelweni lokukhupha_. Take him to the  _kwigumbi lokuphinda_."

Three months. It had been three fucking months.

Erik had wanted to die, to let his lungs swell with the drowned souls of those before him, his nautical grave sending him next to wherever the universe thought he deserved. But he had awakened in a bright room, the wound on his chest healed and his cousin, T'Challa, standing next to him.

"You will begin your detoxing process, effective immediately." It was the only thing the older man had said before Erik was thrust into a world of submission. For days on end, he was told what to do; people trying to get into his head from all angles.

"The hate in your heart is fierce, umphefumlo olahlekileyo." He had learned that those words, foreign to ears, meant  _lost soul_. It had been repeated over and over again by all those who came across him, the idiom sounding almost crude. He saw the way they all looked at him, and the distaste was not due to him having nearly killed their leader. They did not like that he was a half-breed, that his blood was mixed with someone who had been touched by colonization. They did not even have the decency, then, to call him by his native name, N'Jadaka.

It was not everyone who treated him like the outsider he was; there were some who regarded him with pity, which he hated. He did not pity from any damn body; he had gotten far in life without it. But there were a few who had at least been empathetic, sharing woes that were not at all similar to his, but at least a slight comfort during his worst days.

They made him eat and drink things that felt like fire in the pit of his stomach, stripping him of something he had not been able to perceive. They locked him in dark rooms for days on end and did not come to him as he yelled until he was hoarse. They called it "trust" exercises. They said he needed to trust that they would come save him, save him as those in America, where had grown up, had not. It was a grueling, cruel process, but on the fifth day of being alone, having only the crumbs left over from his meals as company, he settled down, and they came for him.

He by no means, however, had learned to appreciate any of the Wakandans, not even his cousins and aunt, who were the most persistent in his transformation. He did not like that they shared murderous blood. He could not get the image of his dead father, his chest ruined with animalistic marks, out of his head, and had not been able to for nearly two decades.

"I could ask for your forgiveness on my father's behalf until the day I join Bast, but I know that will not be enough for you," T'Challa had told him one warm evening. They sat alone on the veranda, watching the sunset. Erik had surpassed the stage of needing handcuffs when around the palace; T'Challa trusted he would not hurt him. And Erik did not. There was no use for it. He did not feel the hatred that once adorned every cell in his body. Alas, he still did not speak openly with his cousin, letting the king do all the talking.

"That is something you will have to come to on your own terms," T'Challa concluded, and Erik agreed. Forcing forgiveness out of him would not work, and he was uncertain if it ever would.

Three fucking months of what felt like torture was more than an emotional expenditure. It was not only the sleepless nights of his mind wandering of what the hell was going to happen to him next, but the primal urge he had not been able to satisfy.

Before he was captured, he had been able to pull any woman he had wanted. If they returned his glances with even the slightest hint of suggestion, they would be in his bed before the night ended, and then he was onto the next. He loved sex, or, more aptly, he loved fucking. Hard, and when he was able to, raw. He loved seeing women beneath him, screaming for their next orgasm. He loved watching their bodies writhe beneath him. He loved dominating. Linda had been his last conquest, and he actually cringed at the fact he had killed her. She was not the best in bed, but she certainly beat having  _nothing_. He wanted nothing to do with any of the woman in Wakanda's palace, but he could not deny the urges he felt when his eyes would scan over their bodies behind his dreads. He resorted to handling himself in cold showers, but that was not enough.

"I'm tired of this shit. I need someone to fuck," he blurted to T'Challa one day during their time alone. The king's brows rose in astonishment. Those inside the palace were not as brass as his cousin, and he was even shocked he admitted something like that to him.

T'Challa did not speak on it then, but a week later, he was awakened in his chambers, a tiny room with a tiny bed, by the Dora Milaje. One of the bald women--had not cared to really remember their names--said to him, "You've been summoned to kwigumbi lokuphinda."

"What the hell is that?" Erik did not bother trying to repeat the term. His father had only taught him so much Xhosa before he was killed, and Erik had only learned by himself the meaning of his name and words like "kill."

"Follow us."

"The fuck y'all got me in handcuffs for? Thought I passed all that shit," Erik grunted as he shook at the wrists behind his back. He had not been prisoner to the metal bindings for nearly two weeks, and all of sudden he was thrown right back into them.

"It is required of you," one of the Dora Milaje answered, her eyes in front of her, her staff perched in her hand and always ready to be used.

"Why?"

"Your questions will soon be answered," the other soldier responded, but unlike the stone face of her counterpart, the slightest grin pulled at the corner of her lips.

 _What the hell was that about? What the_ fuck _is going on?_  Erik's mind wondered where they could be taking him when they moved him to one of the lifts. He assumed they would be taking him to one of the floors he had already been granted access to, but to his surprise, they kept rising and rising until they hit the top floor. No one, not even T'Challa's chambers, were that high.

"Where are we?" He could not help the inquiries that continued to flow as they walked down a long hallway, the only thing keeping it lit in the night being torches along the walls.

"You will know soon enough," the stone-faced solider replied, and the other did not say anything, despite that annoying simper she wore. Erik would not let either of them know that he was a bit nervous.

"Does T'Challa know about this?" Erik queried.

"Yes; he is the one who requested it," the smiling Dora Milaje answered before stopping abruptly before a grandiose door. "We are here."

"We're  _where_ -?"

Both of the soldiers pounded their staffs against the hardened, marble floor, and a voice from inside the gold and mahogany doors spoke, "Enter."

Erik was pushed inside the room and the door was locked behind him before he could even grasp what was going on.

"Yo! Let me out!" He kneed the door, his hands still jailed behind him. The soldiers did not answer his angry demand, and he did no stop banging the aperture until the voice that had gained him entry spoke again.

"N'Jadaka, is it?"

At the use of his native name, he turned around swiftly, dreadlocks swinging. He did not notice until then the expanse layout of the room. It was dark like the hallway, but instead of torches, it was lit by candles, hundreds of them. Their aroma was something Erik could not put his finger on, but it was alluring, dastardly so. He felt his rugged breathing relax, the strictness of his broad shoulders loosening. There was a massive bed in the center of the room, and one wall was made up entirely of glass, Wakanda's brightly lit city shining in the distance. Columns made of marble stood at various parts of the room, and music-he could not tell the source-played lowly, a beckoning sound. But what stood out to him, the most elaborate thing, was the woman lying on the lounge chair.

". . . Yeah, that's me," Erik answered carefully. "Who you?"

A chuckle escaped the woman. "Have you not been told?" Her voice sounded like crystals, dripping along the rug its jewels.

Erik shook his head slowly. To his dissatisfaction, he was immediately enthralled by the woman, and her simple, "Come to me, N'Jadaka," had him flowing right towards her.

She remained on the couch, a palm settled on a round hip as her dark eyes observed him. Up close, he could see that she was a beautiful woman, one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Her skin was ebony, her hair was in twists that would flow way passed her back side if she were to stand. She wore a champagne-colored robe, so long that it covered her entire body.

"Who are you?" Erik asked again. Though the woman was enticing in all her strangeness, he was still wary. He had no idea who she was. No one had ever mentioned a damn-near goddess living alone on the top floor of the palace.

"I am Uthande. I am the lovely one."

"Uthande," Erik tested the name on his tongue and figured it was easy enough to say and to remember.

"All right, cool," he surmised, letting his eyes openly roam her. "So why am I here? You requested me or sumn?"

A cool grin spread across the woman's full lips. "No, N'Jadaka. It is you that requested  _I_."

Erik's brows furrowed. He did not remember requesting anything other than freedom from the hellhole they called the palace.

"Would you like something to drink, N'Jadaka? I, myself, am parched. " Uthande asked, standing. Her robe opened just a bit as she did, flashing the gleaming skin of her legs.

Erik watched her carefully as she went over to a table, the top adorned in different bottles and wine glasses. She chose one, the glass of it too dark to tell what was inside, but when she poured out the burgundy liquid, Erik figured it had to be wine. Uthande turned back to him, a single wine glass in her hand.

"Yeah," Erik responded. "I can't drink it with these cuffs on me, though."

"Who said you would be granted this divine beverage just yet?" Uthande tilted her head, her expression playful, mocking.

"Ain't you just ask me if I wanted some?"

Uthande snickered. "Oh, my apologies. I must have forgotten to mention that you must  _work_  for that reward."

"Some wine is a reward?" What the hell was this?

Erik's expression went from gruff uncertainty to intimidated surprise when Uthande took a small sip from the glass, then undid her robe, revealing a body that looked so delectable, he almost begged to be inside of it. He watched in shock, and arousal, as Uthande then took the glass and poured the contents down her neck and over her naked breasts. Erik could see her nipples tightening at the coolness of the drink, and he felt his pants tighten.

"I don't know, N'Jadaka," Uthande responded, burgundy dripping from her. "You tell me."

She gestured him forward with her finger, and when he was close enough to smell her scent, an alluring aroma, he saw in her eyes that this night would be a long and hard one.

"T'Challa said you were in need of some release, or, more accurately, in need of  _fucking_ ," Uthande said, her breath smelling of sweet wine. The way she spoke made him tremble, but he would not show it. He was the dominate one and always had been.

"I can sense you do not like following direction; you like to lead, to direct, to take control," Uthande surmised. She stepped closer to him. "I can see it now in your eyes. They are dark with the lust for control. You want to fuck me on this table right now, don't you?"

A smile crept onto Erik's lips. "Hell yeah."

She smacked him then. Taken aback, Erik glared at her. "What the fuck-,"

Another smack, harder this time. The fire in his eyes were raging, but he remained quiet. He could only do so much with his hands bound behind his back.

"You will know the rules of the copulation room," Uthande spoke evenly. She moved around him, slender fingers drifting across his chest and shoulders as she circled.

Uthande's voice was cat-like, sly and silky as she spoke gently. "One: You will listen to me and  _me_  only. You do not control this room. What I say do, you do." A nail scratched along his chest. "Two: No back talking. You will respect what I say." A finger across his back. "Three: You're allowed to leave whenever you wish. Just say the word and-," Uthande moved back in front of him and pulled her twists over her shoulder, exposing more of her right breast, "-I'll let you go. Do you understand?"

Erik pulled his eyes away from her body, having not tried to be allured by the woman with smooth ebony skin and a voice like satin, but he failed. It was like she had cast a spell on him the moment he stepped into the room. Everything about her pulled at him; drew him in. The scents of vanilla wafting through the room, the rich butter that made her skin shine. The dimness of the candles. Her proximity.

"Is this something you'd like?" she questioned, her gaze never leaving his. "Is this something you'd like to try, N'Jadaka?" 

Erik eyed her, uncertainty-and curiosity-lining his features. He did not know what he would be getting himself into. T'Challa had never spoken of this woman, she had appeared almost as if through the air. Yet, he did not think his cousin would purposely put him in the line of danger. She was some of kind of sex guru, maybe a mistress even, from what he could put together. And she was standing there, waiting for him to make whatever call he desired. Quietly, she was relaxed, as if whatever he chose would be fine by her.

After a moment's consideration, his arousal having not been quenched by a woman in far too long, he nodded. "Yeah." 

She smiled, "Good."

She hummed a bit, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she eyed him, taking in his broad physique, his scars, the cut on his cheek, his full lips, and lost eyes. She could admit, he was a sight, but she was still an enigma, and that was where he could not compare. He looked at her just the same, but she was not intimidated. She had dealt with the likes of people like him before, and she had weakened their resolve to nothing as well. Uthande was going to have fun with her specimen.

She pressed her palms against his chest, her face nearing his. Erik could smell the sweet wine on her warm breath. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Uthande let her tongue trace the line of his thick lips. "Don't move," she was quick to correct when he began to fidget beneath the wetness.  

"Stick out your tongue," Uthande commanded, and when Erik did not obey immediately, finding the demand odd, her palm connected to his face again. He inhaled, his nostrils flaring. She could see the rage in his eyes at being handled so crudely, but Uthande had been doing what she did best for a long time, and she knew what curious lust looked like, in the gaze, and the pants. Erik shifted from one foot to the other, trying to disguise the erection she knew was growing.

She commanded him again, and this time, he complied. "Good," Uthande smiled. She trailed her fingers up his neck. "I want to taste you, N'Jadaka." She did not wait for the furrow of his brow in perplexity before she stuck out her own pink tendon and circled it around his. She pinched his chin to open his mouth further and dipped her tongue inside it. She allowed them to go to war, the wetness of their mouths tantalizing, but only for a moment; she could feel his domination coming out. 

In the way he pulled her lips against his, the region beneath his belt trying to push against her stomach. All textbook. All hilarious. It would not be long before she had him grovelling. She regained the power she purposefully relinquished, taking his bottom lip between hers, sucking it. They parted wetly, a string of saliva stretched between their mouths. Erik dove back for her, but when she edged her head away, he bit his lip, repressing the hunger that had spurted just that quickly. 

 _You're mine_ , she thought laughingly when she heard his moan. It was low and deep in his throat, gone undisguised. 

Uthande drew away from him. She moved her hands from his shoulders to his neck. "You are a hungry man, N'Jadaka. I can tell by the way you kiss. You like being dominate. Is that right?"

At the risk of being smacked again, Erik was slow to answer, ". . . Yeah, I do."

Instead of her hand connecting to his face for, yet again, inadvertently disobeying her commands, she thought it better to test him another way, to get it through to him that he would not, nor would ever, be the ruler while they were in that room. 

"I'm feeling a bit sticky from all that wine," she purred, moving back from him and leaning onto the table. He watched her as she moved. "Clean me, N'Jadaka."

She dropped her robe to the floor, revealing her full nudity. She saw the heightened rise and fall of Erik's chest, his eyes scanning every inch his gaze could touch. 

"What'chu want me to do?" he questioned carefully, his line of vision rising from her mound to her eyes. 

"What did I just tell you?" Uthande's head tilted as she massaged one of her breasts in her hand. "Use that tongue of yours and clean me."

Erik nodded, taking the hint, and leisurely made his way between her open legs. Her eyes did not leave his face as he tried to get comfortable in the awkward position the handcuffs left him in. He bent over, his masculine scent invading Uthande's spaces, and he connected his mouth to her neck, sucking slowly. 

The hairs of his beard scratched her slightly as he moved his mouth across her, lapping up the sheen of wine she had refused him earlier. 

"Lower, N'Jadaka," Uthande commanded, straight-forward in what she expected of him. His eyes darted up to hers, and she simply lifted a brow, daring him to question her. 

He licked his lips and did as he was told. His tongue teased an erect nipple, the tendon lingering over the bud for a moment before taking it into his mouth.  _Damn_ , he cursed. His erection was damn-near hurting him now, and he wanted nothing more but to touch her, to grip her body in his hands and bend her over that table, fucking her into oblivion. But he could not, and had to settle with what she allowed. 

Uthande listened to the sounds his mouth made against her skin, how his teeth grazed her exterior, his lips sucking and pressing. Her eyes dropped to the glistening peaks of her breasts, and when his attention was on one of them, she circled a finger around the damn rim before placing the extremity into her mouth. Erik saw what she did, and dammit, if he was not bound up, he would be a savage as far as she would permit. 

"Step back, N'Jadaka," she said suddenly, sitting up a bit. She pushed him backward when he was not quick enough. "Go sit down." She lifted slender fingers and gestured toward the chaise lounge behind him. He did as he was told, settling onto a cushion that felt as if its cost compared to diamonds. 

They eyed each other in silence, Erik's heartbeat probably much louder than her own. Erik knew the skill he had when it came to pleasuring women, so to see Uthande so lax as if her nipples had not become taut beneath his heated mouth was shocking to him. He saw her gaze,  unabashedly, connect between his legs, and if she were wondering what he would feel like inside of her, he wondered what was taking her so damned long. 

"What'chu want me to do now-,"

"Be quiet, N'Jadaka. Any questions asked around here will be from me."

He silenced himself, a rough exhale following suit. He was growing sickened of how she talked to him, with little respect. But what he found out in their short time together was that his annoyance did not matter to her. She ran the whole room, and he would have to deal with it. 

"I've allowed you your fun. Now, I want to have my own."

"What'chu mean-?"

The cut of her eyes quieted him. 

"Don't take your eyes off of me." It sounded more like a concealed threat than a demand, but just as she spoke, his eyes were magnets to her body. 

Erik swallowed thickly when he watched her sit on the wood, her nimble fingers gloss down her midsection and to her mound, where she began to rub slowly. Her hair dangled at the side of her body as she lifted one leg onto the table to get better access to her glistening womanhood. Her fingers ghosted over the bud before she let them enter. The hitch of her breath, the soft moan in her throat, made his own inhales become more labored.

 _Damn_ , the way her brown skin shone against the candle lights, the way she pleasured herself, open to his gaze, inviting. Her eyes did not leave him either, waiting for his line of vision to connect to her eyes. Uthande wanted to see his hunger, his greed, intent on feeding him once she was done torturing him. 

"Uthande, please."

Erik had not even realized his internal plea had made it passed his lips, but Uthande's smirk proved she had heard, that she had him right where she wanted him.  _Fuck_. 

"Please what?" She did not stop touching herself as she waited for his answer. 

Erik looked at her, his frustration clear on the lines of his face, the slight curl of his lips. "I just . . . please . . ."

"Please  _what_ , N'Jadaka? Use your words. What do you want from me?" She exhaled when her finger curved just the right way, and it was not lost on Erik's ear. 

"Lemme eat you out," he blurted, wishing he had been more eloquent in front of the woman who looked like she only used pristine words. "Or fuck. Either one'll do." Unlike when speaking to T'Challa, whose frown proved he was not fond of Erik's colloquialisms, the initial phrase seemed amusing to Uthande, and her gem-like laughter sifted through the air.

"Cunnilingus?" Her brow cocked. "Is that what you want to do, N'Jadaka?"

"You got one of the prettiest pussies I've ever seen," he mused, his voice low, needing. "And if we ain't fuckin', at least let me do that.  _Shit_." He really needed to undo his belt and free his hard-on.  He growled, "Uthande,  _please_." 

She let him suffer a bit longer, making him watch her find her own release and then lick it off her fingers before she beckoned him over. She smacked him when he tried to be to quick, dipping his head to reach her mouth in a kiss when she had not instructed him to do so. 

"On your knees.  _Now_ ," she instructed, loving the way his face twisted in anger at her assaulting palm. His breathing, however, defied him. He liked the force, his inhales sharp and the need for her growing more and more in his eyes. 

His knees connected with the marble floor, and he sat face to face with indeed, the prettiest pussy he had ever seen. Her fingers still lingered over it, the folds glossy from their last arrival. Uthande looked down at him, her own simper pulling at her plump lips. 

"Have at it, N'Jadaka." 

Uthande had no fear of showing her satisfaction to her specimen. She did not like holding back her moans, even her screams, so she did not if it did not please her to do so. She could admit without annoyance when someone was skilled, and N'Jadaka was a skilled man. 

"Put that pussy right there for me," he whispered, luring her womanhood closer to the edge of the table so he could have better access. Uthande did not mind the demand, because she knew she could revoke it any moment she wanted to. She could make him leave, starved, at the drop of the coin, but she loved feeling good, and if that meant being lenient to get the best results, she could put aside her status to get them. 

His tongue dipped into her folds, dancing along them as if they were his rightful place. His gaze did not stray from hers as his lips clasped around her aching core, pulling when it needed to be pulled, and sucking when it needed to be sucked. Liquid dripped down his chin as he ate at her, her fingers clawing at his dreads as she pressed his face further into her crevice. 

"Dear Bast, right there," she breathed, grounding her hips to match the devilish rhythm of his tongue. Erik would have added a finger, maybe even three, if his hands were not behind his back. He liked watching the mistress squirm, he liked seeing what he did to her. She came in his mouth with no regret, her "Ahh,  _yes,_ " accompanying her release. He loved the way she tasted, and swallowed on his own will. 

When he stood, his beard glistened with her nectar, and he was licking his lips free of the essence. 

"Gluttonous aren't we?" Uthande rose a brow. "Share with me."

She grabbed his chin and crashed her mouth to his, tasting herself. They kissed deeply, the wet smacks sounded throughout the room. This time, he knew that he could not dominate her, that she was in control, so he stopped himself from leaning his weight onto her so that her back could press against the table. Her lead was enticing, he could sourly admit. 

When they pulled away again, Erik's groan following, she finally reached for his pants and relinquished his manhood from its bondage. It sprang free, hard against his roughened abdomen. 

"Do you want me, N'Jadaka?" Uthande asked as if his erection had not made that very clear. She traced a finger down the length, and Erik twitched. 

"Hell yeah."

"How badly?"

"Real bad."

"What do you want to do to me?"

"Fuck you senseless."

Uthande smiled. "Brazen. I like that. But not tonight."

The shock on Erik's face was laughable, and he damn-near pleaded for her to tell him he was joking as she buckled up his pants, hiding away the trophy that had left him with a lot of female stalkers, and called out for the guards to take him away. 

"Uthande!" he bellowed out when the two female guards who had led him to that dastardly room was leading him back out. 

He twisted around to see the woman putting her robe back on, running a hand through her long twists as if unfazed by his cries. 

"I like you, N'Jadaka," she said as she went back over to the couch, lying on it as she had been when he answered. "But you still must learn who controls this room."

The smile she left him with, he cursed, but locked into his mind, too. It was a promise. 


End file.
